the tumblr archive
by hailingstars
Summary: Stories based on prompts sent to me and written on Tumblr! 1. All the Avengers crash Peter's graduation ceremony and inspire him to make a speech similar to the one Tony gave the press at the end of Iron Man 1.
1. extended family

A/N: Hey all! This is just going to be a collection of the stories based on prompts that get sent to me and posted on Tumblr. Just some oneshots and mostly nonsense.

Come find me on Tumblr ( .com) if you want to submit a prompt or just join me in freaking out here in our last days before Endgame. No spoilers on my blog, just mostly desperate call outs to marvel to SAVE TONY STARK

ok here's the story

* * *

extended family

"Wait, what?" asked Peter. He dropped his screwdriver and looked away from the web-shooters he'd been upgrading. Mr. Stark stared back at him, with a straight face, as if his response to Peter's question was completely reasonable and not to be questioned. "You need how many tickets?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve?"

"Yep," said Mr. Stark. He bopped him on the nose with a cloth as he passed by him, leaving Peter to wipe the smudge it left with his arm. "Just eighteen and your super-hearing is already going, huh?"

"Umm," said Peter. "You know, I thought you'd say like one, or two, if Ms. Potts wants to come, and I already have Happy's ticket. He's coming with May…" He trailed off as he did the math in his head, as he tried to figure out why and for who Mr. Stark needed those ten extra tickers.

"Pep's coming," he told him. "And Rhodey and Bruce."

Peter looked at Mr. Stark and waited for him to keep going with his list. There was a sinking, suspicious feeling in his stomach, one that told Peter exactly where the rest of this conversation was going, and one that told Peter that his previous agreement with Mr. Stark had been violated.

"And Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint, Wanda, Vision," said Tony, then paused. "Oh, and Thor."

"No! _No way_."

"You can't tell Thor he can't come to your graduation now. He'll be heartbroken. Just a few hours ago he was going on and on about how he can't wait to see the Midgardian coming of age ceremony."

Peter slouched in his stool, over the workstation in front of him and buried his head in his hands. "Mr. Stark you promised you wouldn't say anything."

He'd been nervous, at first, to ask Mr. Stark to come and see his graduation. He'd had some sort of illogical fear that his mentor wouldn't want to spend a couple of hours in a high school auditorium, just to wait for Peter's name to be called, and so what if he was valedictorian? So, what if he was reciting a speech he'd written? Even after years of working with Mr. Stark, of fighting with Iron Man, some days Peter Parker still didn't feel very important.

That fear, of course, had been proven illogical after he told Mr. Stark about the graduation and the accomplishment and the speech. In that moment, a new fear that been sparked, and that one didn't feel so illogical. Peter feared Mr. Stark might start shouting about his fear from the rooftop of his building or fly around in his armor yelling about it into a megaphone.

Peter had never seen pride as violent as Mr. Stark's. It made him smile. When the man wasn't looking.

In all his parental gushing and hugs and tears, even if Mr. Stark said they weren't really tears, he did make him one promise. That he wouldn't say anything to the Avengers. That he would keep their involvement down to the graduation Peter was allowing Mr. Stark to throw him at the Avenger's compound.

Apparently, that hadn't happened. The promise was broken, and Peter was terrified, if not a bit moved. That they all cared enough about him to sit and around in a high school auditorium and wait for him to speak.

"I might have let it slip… in my excitement over hearing your speech," admitted Mr. Stark.

Peter sat up, picked his screwdriver back up, and twirled it through his fingers. He wished it wasn't a big deal. He wished he could just let the whole Avengers team crash his graduation ceremony, if only to see Flash's expression when he found out they were all there for Tony Stark's intern, but that couldn't happen.

It was an unnecessary risk to Spider-Man's secret identity, and lately, between online conspiracy theorists and the media trailing after Spider-Man's every move, he felt like he needed to be extra careful.

In the end, after a discussion where he shared his reasons with Mr. Stark, and where Mr. Stark admitted he'd lost a bit of reality in all his pride and excitement, Peter gave him two tickets, with a bit of guilt and regret as he handed them over.

When he went home, when he was in his bedroom, alone, typing up his speech on a Stark laptop, he thought about heroes, and whether or not Mr. Stark ever regretted revealing to the world that he was one of them.

Graduation day arrived swiftly.

Peter had a stack of notecards in his hand as he stepped out onto the stage and took the valedictorians seat behind the podium. As the salutatorian, Flash sat next to him. They both looked out into the crowd, and they both spotted Tony Stark and Pepper Potts sit down, next to May and Happy, in the front row, at the same time.

"Holy shit," said Flash. "That's Tony fucking Stark."

"Mmhm."

"I wonder what he's doing here." Flash straightened up in his chair. "Maybe he's coming to scout out the talent, offer up some real internships."

Peter didn't have the chance to offer a reply. Principal Morita now stood behind the podium, commanded the attention of the auditorium, and started the ceremony. Or at least he tried. He was interrupted by a string of people lining up against the back wall, by a string of Avengers lining up against the back wall, or rather, interrupted by the whispers and the pointing that they attracted.

At the sight of Thor, standing in the middle of Avengers line, waving him at with extreme gusto, Peter's eyes went wide with horror and he shrunk back in his chair.

"Fuck that's Thor," said Flash. He looked all around them. "Who's he waving at?"

By some miracle, Morita eventually regained control over the auditorium, and the ceremony started. Names were called. Peter watched as his classmates and friends crossed the stage, received their diplomas and sat back down. He watched as his teammates, the Avengers, stood at the back, with nowhere to sit, the entire time, just waiting for Peter to give his speech.

It came too soon. Peter wasn't really the sort to give speeches, farewell ones, or otherwise. That was more of Steve's thing, but he stood up when he was announced. He shook Morita's hand, and moved in front of the podium.

Everything was so clear as he stood, and as he spoke. May held Happy's hand as tears streamed down her face. Tony's violent pride was evident in his eyes, and in his smile. Standing in the back row, his found family. All of them, except for Thor, blending in, and on their best behavior, hanging on his every word.

He looked down at his notecards, then back up at the crowd, specifically he looked at May and Tony, and he hoped they would forgive him for what he was about to do.

"There's a lot of speculation and discourse on what it means to be a hero. My uncle Ben and my aunt May taught me that kindness is a superpower," and Peter, with a nod and a smile for May. "Then there's the other kind of hero. The kind that protects us from threats we never even hear about, that teach younger heroes, like Spider-Man, to wield their power, and their responsibility, with care."

"You all might be wondering what Spider-Man has to do with us," said Peter, and there a few laughs echoed across the auditorium. Mr. Stark didn't laugh. Neither did May. "Well the truth is… I am Spider-Man."

The auditorium was silent as Peter retreated back to his chair. He didn't dare look at May or Mr. Stark, but he caught Flash's expression before he sat down beside him. His eyes were popping out of his skull, and his mouth was hanging open, chin dropped. All of his previous questions had been answered, especially as Peter finally and happily waved back at Thor, and for once, Flash was left speechless.

* * *

"What. The. Fuck?"

May stood in front of Peter. Her reaction reminded him of when it was just her finding out he was Spider-Man, and that gave him hope. She embraced his choice to be Spider-Man then, so it was only a matter of time before she embraced his decision again. Just like that night though, Peter didn't know what to say to her, but luckily, he didn't have to say anything.

She turned and directed her fury onto Mr. Stark. Their argument, at some point, descended into Italian, and Peter had to suppress a smile. He knew he should feel remorseful, that they were arguing about him in a foreign language because they were scared for him, but he couldn't feel guilt. Just happy. They were a family, a real one, so he knew, even though emotions were high, and they were angry with him and at each one, eventually they would all return to his graduation party upstairs.

And they did. They went back upstairs, after receiving promises of his impending death from both his sets of parents, and Peter had a great time.

He played cards with Nat and Clint. He laughed with and attempted to steal beer from Thor. He chatted with Bruce about which courses and which professors he wanted when he got to MIT. He made Steve promise him to teach him to ride his motorcycle, when Mr. Stark was out of earshot, but most of all, he thanked them all for coming to his graduation. For inspiring him. For being there, and for listening.

When his party was over, and there was nobody left except for him and Mr. Stark, Peter collapsed on the couch, feeling the weight of the day.

"Well," said Mr. Stark. He sat next to him, with a drink in hand. "Pepper says it's official. She's been talking with the media since your little… announcement and there's too many threads connecting you to Spider-Man to play this off as a joke."

"I didn't want to do that anyway."

"Peter… you didn't think this through," said Mr. Stark. "Do you have any idea how hard this is going to be?"

"Harder than having two identities?"

Mr. Stark looked at him, then took a sip of his whiskey. "There's nothing you could say that's gonna convince me or Pepper or May or Happy that this was a good idea."

"Well you don't have to," said Peter. "I'm an adult now, and it's my choice."

"I don't like that. Go back to being fifteen," said Mr. Stark. He put his drink down and slung an arm around Peter's shoulders "Still proud of you. Your aunt too, she'll forgive you eventually."

"I know," said Peter. He wiggled out of his grip. "Wait here. I got you a present."

He went over to where his bag hung on a chair and returned with a small box topped with a bow. Peter handed it over.

"You know as the graduate you're supposed to be receiving the presents, not giving them, right?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow, as he took the box form him.

"Just open it."

Peter sat back down next to him and watched as Mr. Stark undid the bow and took the lid off the box. He pulled out the present, a pair of knee-high socks with Peter's face printed all across them and held it up to examine it.

"Seriously kid?"

"So you won't forget my face when I move into my dorm," said Peter. "I know you'll miss me. Pepper said you're going to be a mess."

"Oh she did?"

"Yeah." Peter leaned back against his side. "I'm going to miss you too, Mr. Stark."

He put his arm back around Peter's shoulder and squeezed. "Yeah. But there's no way in hell I'm wearing these socks."

But months later, when Peter was browsing Instagram in his dorm room, he wasn't at all surprised to stumble upon photos of Mr. Stark wearing socks with his face printed across them, and he was even less surprised to open his own mail on a rainy day in November to find socks with Mr. Stark's face printed on them.

Peter wore them with a violent pride he inherited from his dad.


	2. like the sun

A/N: This one was written for irondad bingo, and it's my first Endgame fix-it, so there are spoilers below, read at your own risk.

Bingo Prompt: Peter wearing Tony's hoodies

Summary: 2 times Peter steals Tony's hoodies, and 1 time he doesn't have to

* * *

Peter waited for it, with his bare arms cold, huddled against his stomach, and with bare feet, hanging off the deck, just inches away from brushing the top of the water with his toes.

That morning, the breeze was light, but it kicked water up off the lake, and that was enough to make him shiver, to make his feet and legs just as cold as his arms.

He should've put on shoes, or at least socks, but he didn't have any. Not any that wasn't borrowed from someone else.

Still, even cold and underdressed, he waited for it, for that couple of seconds when the sun would rise up and hit the water at just the right angle. It was beautiful, and more importantly, it was the same.

A lot changed in the five years Peter Parker was dead, but he could still count on the sun to come up the same way it always had.

Tony's cabin by the lake was beautiful too. He built a beautiful life with Pepper and Morgan, and occasionally Rhodey and Happy. They dropped by for visits a lot, even now, as well as other mismatched Avengers, just looking to say hello or thank Tony for his sacrifice.

It wasn't lost on any of them that Tony could've lost more than his arm.

A stronger gust of wind blew off the lake, and Peter rubbed at his arms, trying to get warm. It didn't help much. He needed a jacket. One of _his _jackets, but they were all gone. Looted after the snappening, like the rest of the items in May and Peter's old apartment, like the rest of their old life.

Stolen from them. Gone. Everything was gone.

Peter took a deep breath, to remind himself that he could. That he had life, even if it wasn't the same as the one he lost, and he should feel grateful to have it.

Some mornings being grateful was harder than others.

"Pete?"

He turned his head and saw Tony walking down the deck, towards him, with a cardinal red hoodie in his hands. He handed it over to Peter, and after he accepted it, sat down next to him. Peter looked at the hoodie in his hands.

White letters across the chest spelled out MIT, and now that it was closer, Peter noticed the red was slightly faded. He slipped it on before Tony could order him to do it. Warmth spread over his arms, and across his back, as Tony stretched his arm over him and pulled him closer.

That was another difference were life then and life now. A positive one.

He had died as Tony Stark's intern, as Iron Man's protégé, but came back as his child.

Evident by a hug that knocked the air from his lungs, by a kiss on the cheek in the middle of a battlefield, and by the way all that affection was so freely given once they were all home safe, under the roof of the cabin by the lake.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "I'm good."

"Oh right, that's believable," said Tony. "You're out here, barefoot and freezing to death this early, when you should be sleeping, because you're _good_."

Tony's sarcasm, and his way of forcefully and accurately calling him out on bullshit, that was the same, just like the sunrise.

"I like watching the sun come up," said Peter. "It's the same every morning, when there's no clouds, and I don't sleep well at night, anyway."

Tony sighed and squeezed Peter's shoulder, brought him closer to his side.

"You know, it's okay if you're not good," said Tony. "I'd understand. We'd all understand."

Peter took another breath, a deep one in, then exhaled. Again, trying to remind himself he should feel grateful, but it didn't work. Something about Tony's presence, his arm around his shoulder, forced honesty. Another something that hadn't change. Another good thing to add to his list to convince himself that this new life was good, and still held glimpses of the one that was dead.

"Everything's so different now," admitted Peter. "The world… just kept going, some of my friends are in college-" he looked down at his hand, his fingers, where red and gold fingernail polish was chipped and starting to fade "-You have a daughter."

"She's amazing, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

She was a difference, and another good one. Peter had always known Tony wanted kids, but he sort of always thought that he'd be there in the hospital when they were born, that he would hold them as babies.

Morgan was four, and constantly reminding everyone that she wasn't a baby.

And Peter wouldn't change that. Not for anything. Morgan was perfect, and playing with her, letting her paint his nails red and gold, made Peter stop keeping track and making lists of all the things that were different and all the things that were the same. Peter just wished he wouldn't have missed so much of her life.

Or so much life, in general.

"I know I shouldn't feel sad," said Peter. It felt wrong to even admit it out loud, especially to Tony, who's sacrifice made his breath possible. "I know I should be happy to have another chance, but I just can't. At least not all the time."

"I get it," said Tony. "And its okay. You're allowed to grieve for your life before, for what you lost and still celebrate being alive. It's okay to feel both, nobody's mad at you, and no one wants you to feel guilty about it, alright?"

Peter looked at Tony, meeting his brown eyes, and nodded, slow and unsure, then turned his eyes back to the treetops. A breeze ran through the leaves as gold light peaked through the empty spaces it left. The sun was almost up.

"There wasn't a second you were gone I didn't miss you, or that I didn't feel awful for not being able to save you, but still, I couldn't regret the way things turned out, because if they didn't turn out that way, maybe I wouldn't have Morgan."

And yet, when given the chance, Tony put his beautiful new life on the line so he could have them both. Peter didn't know if he'd ever be able to repay Tony for his gamble.

Life was pretty complicated and messy, filled with contradictions and emotions that contradicted themselves but somehow never cancelled each other out. It was more complicated now, after the snaps, but the sun still came up over the trees in that just right angle to cast a goldish, greenish, turquoise light out onto the lake, just the way it did every morning, when there weren't any clouds.

Peter and Tony sat on the end of the dock, huddled close together, and watched the array of colors that were reflected on the lake, and once the light show was over, they went back inside. Peter fell back asleep on the couch, with nothing but Tony's hoodie keeping him warm. Hours later, he woke up to the sound of Tony and May laughing together in the kitchen, and to Pepper and Morgan playing outside on the porch.

A couple of days later, when boxes of clothes arrived for Peter and May, he held onto Tony's hoodie, stashed it away and plotted to never give it back. Weeks after that, when it was time for them to move back to Queens, Peter stuffed the red, MIT hoodie into the very bottom of his suitcase.

He needed to take a little bit of home with him.

* * *

"Hey Pete," said Tony. He was under a car as Peter rounded the corner and entered the garage. His greeting stopped him dead in his tracks and made him wonder how Tony knew it was him. "How was Europe?"

"Uh. It was okay."

Peter walked further into the garage, and as he did, his eyes got caught on a blue hoodie that had been tossed over the back a chair by the worktable. He inched towards it, while Tony was preoccupied under the car.

"Just okay?" There was skepticism in his voice already, as if Tony sensed out his lie just as accurately as he sensed his arrival.

"I mean, it was fun," said Peter. "But it was still for school, you know, so we had chaperones watching our every move."

"Good."

Tony didn't need to know by chaperones Peter meant Nick Fury and his SHEILD friends. He didn't need to know about the mission Fury had given him, or about Mysterio and their impromptu fight, which resulted not only in a very defeated illusionist, but also, in the destruction of the MIT hoodie he'd brought into battle with him.

Peter slid a hand over the blue hoodie on the chair and picked it up reading the Stark Industries logo printed across the front. He looked at Tony again, making sure he was still under the car, then slipped it on over his head and inhaled its scent. Home. It smelled like home. Like Tony.

"How's MJ?"

That was another secret he needed to keep from Tony. Peter didn't need him or anyone else in his family knowing someone else had figured out his secret identity. Tony worried about him enough already. Besides that, MJ was harmless. She wouldn't out him, and she knew how to keep a secret, unlike Peter.

"She's good."

Tony rolled out from under the car, sudden and abrupt, and from the look on his face, Peter knew he was caught in something.

"I saw the strangest thing on the news," said Tony. He grabbed a cloth from the worktable and began wiping grease and dirt off his hands as he advanced towards Peter. "Something about out of the ordinary weather occurrences, and oh yeah, what was it? A molten lava man terrorizing cities?"

"Oh," said Peter. He played with the strings of the hoodie he was in the process of stealing. "That's weird. The media's really taking this whole fake news thing too far."

"I suppose all those pictures of Spidey fighting the lave monster are photoshopped, then."

"Yep. Has to be."

Tony stared him down, with dead, no nonsense eyes that communicated to Peter that there was no use pretending. He gave a defeated sigh, and took a seat on the chair, wishing he had MJ's sense of secrecy.

"So, I might have run into just a little bit of trouble in Europe."

Tony continued to stare at him. "Normally you can't wait to come and babble to me all your Spider-Man hijinks, never mind the heart attack they give me, so you wanna try explaining to me why this is a secret?"

There were too many reasons, and he didn't want to share any of them with Tony. There was the multiverse the Avengers accidentally created by screwing around in the past, there was the very real need to protect Nick Fury from Tony's wrath, and then there was Mysterio.

He'd tricked him, betrayed him, tried to kill him.

It wasn't something he was ready to talk about, and if he were still keeping tack of all the things that were different now, and all the things that were the same, he'd added betrayal to the lists of things that were true on both sides of the snap.

"What happened, Peter?" asked Tony, again, and this time, his arms were crossed.

The words flew from Peter's mouth without his permission. Rambling was a second nature and spilling his guts while trying to protect a secret continued to be one of his deepest flaws. It didn't help he was trying to hide it from Tony. He hated lying to him. Stealing his sweatshirts was fine, but lying, that hurt too much. It crossed a line.

Once Peter was finished not a detail of his trip was spared, and the garage got quiet. Tony simply blinked back at him, silent, and seemingly processing, until outrage twisted its way into every line on his face.

"Fury ruined your summer vacation."

"It's not like that –"

"-he put you in danger. You could've died."

"I could die just walking to school in the morning."

Tony's expression turned harder, and Peter wondered what was wrong with him, wondered how he thought his latest statement would improve the situation. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of saying all the wrong words.

"He needed me. The world was-"

"Is," corrected Tony. "The world is always in danger. He could've found someone who's not a teenage to help him."

"Without you and Nat there really aren't that many viable options."

"Oh really? What about Thor?"

Peter shifted on his chair, feeling a sense of deja vu. "He's still traveling around the galaxy with those dance-off guys."

"Carol –"

"-probably has a more important crisis to solve," said Peter. "Look, I've been through this whole list once before."

The garage went quiet again, and Tony released a deep, loud breath. He pulled Peter off the chair by his arms, pulled him in for a hug, then kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm glad you're okay."

"You don't have to worry about me so much," said Peter. "I'm not that breakable."

More wrong words, Peter knew, because Tony would never stop worrying. He'd literally broke apart into tiny dust particles in Tony's arms.

Tony tightened his hug, then released. "Go play with your sisters."

"What are you going to do?" asked Peter, but he had a feeling he knew. Tony already had his cellphone out of his pocket, and he imagined Nick Fury was about to get an earful. Part of Peter wanted to listen, and that he hadn't just been order to go play with his –"Wait, what? Sisters? Did you adopt someone else?"

Tony didn't answer. His phone was pressed up against his ear as he waved Peter away, telling him to get lost.

Peter left the garage, telling himself it had more to do with curiosity and his need to escape with his new hoodie unnoticed than it did the actual order.

He walked into the cabin through the front door and followed the noise to the living room, where Morgan and Nebula were sitting on the couch. Their eyes were glued to the screen, and Nintendo Switch controllers were locked in their hands. They were playing Mario Kart, and from the looks of it, Nebula was letting Morgan win.

She didn't, however, let Peter win after he joined their game. They both battled hard. They both shouted at each other when the blue shells were deployed. A win by blue shell was a cheap win, and everyone knew that. They were in the middle of a close race when Tony walked into the living room and ordered FRIDAY to shut off the TV.

"I've been yelling that dinner is ready for ten minutes," said Tony.

When they all sat around the dining room table, Peter had the nerve to look at Tony and ask, "How did your phone call go?"

"Very productive," he told him, as he piled a mountain of broccoli on Morgan's plate. She frowned at it, and at him. Tony moved on to slicing the ham at the center of the table. "Nick Fury isn't allowed to talk to you unless he goes through me first."

"Oh," said Peter. Nebula capitalized the time Tony was distracted with the ham, and scrapped half of Morgan's broccoli and dumped it onto her own plate. Morgan rewarded her with a grin. "Just until I'm eighteen, right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Tony. "Until you're eighteen."

Somehow, Peter doubted he was being sincere.

* * *

Tony's tennis shoes squeaked against the sparkling white floor of the new Avenger's compound as he sped through the halls of the medical wing. The plastic bag he gripped was dripping drops of water everywhere, just like his hair dripped down the back of his neck onto the back of his shirt.

Outside, it was pouring. Inside, his kid was in a numbered room, hurt, lying on a hospital bed.

Tony needed to get to him.

He quickened his pace, separating himself further from Pepper and Morgan, who tried, only half-heartedly, to keep up with him.

"Tony, slow down," said Pepper. Her voice was loud, echoed off the walls, even through her gritted teeth.

He kept going, at the same speed, and eventually his search led him to turn a corner, leaving Pepper and Morgan out of sight.

Tony watched the numbers on the closed doors get bigger and bigger as he continued through the halls, until he came to the door with numbers that matched the text message May had sent him.

The one that had Peter inside.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, shut his eyes, and prepared himself for the awful sight of a broken kid, of his child bruised and bloody and unconscious, but when he finally willed himself to turn the knob and open his eyes, that wasn't what he saw.

Peter was sitting up in his bed, smiling, surrounded by flowers and get well cards and presents. His arm was in a sling, his face was a little bit bruised and he had a bandage covering his forehead, but he was alert. He was fine. Better than fine, actually, by the looks of him.

"Oh hey Tony," said Peter, with a grin splitting his face.

Tony was still standing at the door, staring at him. "They said you were in a serious car accident."

"I was."

"They said you had a major surgery."

"I did," said Peter, with a shrug. "It's over now."

Over. Just like that. As if Tony didn't just almost have his entire world yanked out from under him, again.

He took a breath and tried to let the panic leave his chest.

"I heal fast, remember? It's a spider thing," he told him. He grabbed the glass of apple juice from his bedside table and sipped on it through a straw. He looked up at Tony, then cringed. The smile left his lips. "The car's totaled. I'm sorry, Tony, I know you worked really hard on it."

"I don't care about the stupid car," he said, with an exhale. He left his panic and his anxiety by the door and walked over to sit in the chair next to Peter's bed, holding up the wet, plastic bag as he went. "I brought you something."

Hesitantly, Peter took the bag and looked inside. His smile came back, like a light in the dark, as he pulled a red, Iron Man hoodie away from the plastic.

"This is awesome," said Peter. The plastic bag fell, forgotten, to the floor, while Peter struggled to put on the hoodie with his one good arm. When he had no success, he looked at Tony. "How… did you know to bring me this?"

"Kid," said Tony. He knew Peter well enough to know what he was really asking, to know he was really asking if Tony knew about all the hoodies of his that had seemingly walked out of his home since Peter came back from dust. "You're not sneaky."

First, it'd been his MIT hoodie that never returned, then the SI hoodie that disappeared from the garage. It had become a pattern after that. Hoodies left out whenever Peter was around would inevitably become Peter's. Once or twice, Tony left out a few on purpose.

"Sorry," said Peter, but he didn't sound very apologetic. "They just remind me of home. When I'm not there and I'm wearing one, it's like I'm carrying a piece of home with me." He paused, then looked away. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," said Tony.

If only Peter knew how much he lived for those words, those words that confirmed to him that he thought of the cabin by lake as home, and if only he knew how much he loved him, it'd be impossible for him to believe for a second Tony thought anything he had to say was stupid.

Peter offed Tony another, small, shaky smile. "Help me put it on."

"Nope. Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"You'll hurt your arm," said Tony, as he gestured to his cast.

"I won't. I promise," said Peter. He gave him puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

Tony gave in and helped pull the hoodie over his head and down over the rest of his body. His casted arm stayed under the fabric, but he managed to get his good arm in the sleeve.

"Thanks, Tony."

"Petey!"

Morgan zoomed into the room, leaving Pepper behind at the door, and jumped up onto Peter's hospital bed. She tackle-hugged him.

"Be careful," Pepper told her, but she wasn't listening. She clung onto Peter, who hugged her back with his functional arm.

"It's okay, Pep," said Tony. "He seems to be the one made of iron."

"And now I've got the hoodie to prove it."

"Peter," said Morgan. She let go of him, scooted backward and sat at the end of his bed. "Dad was so worried about you, then I was too, but mom said everything would be okay, because spiders have nine lives."

Nine wasn't enough. Three thousand wouldn't be, either. Not for his kids. He didn't say so out loud. If tonight taught him anything, it was that he could stand not to worry so much, especially it if was affecting Morgan.

They stayed with Peter for hours. It was long enough for him to tell them multiple different Spider-Man stories that made Morgan laugh, and that made Tony's heart jump to his throat. It was long enough for Peter to wear himself out talking, and for Tony to discover that was, indeed, possible, and long enough for Peter to admit his arm was getting achy again.

Tony alerted a nurse, who gave Peter more pain meds, and ten minutes later, he was out cold, just like Tony knew he would be. Morgan was cuddled up next to him, also asleep. It was a miracle. Tony's entire world fit just on that one, small hospital bed.

He brushed the hair back off Peter's forehead. "I love you, kid."

"Mmhmm," said Peter, quiet, with his eyes closed, mostly asleep, but not as far gone as Tony had thought he was. "Like the sun."

"The sun?"

"Sun's the same, every morning," said Peter.

_On both sides of the snap_.

Tony finished it for him, because he was sure that's what he meant.

Peter and his lists of all the things that were different and everything that was the same. His search for everything and anything that could tether him to his life before Thanos snapped his fingers and took five years from him. Tony could be that for Peter. His anchor, and his home.

Tony watched Peter's chest move up and down, watched breath moving out and in, to remind himself that Peter could breathe. He dabbed his eyes with his thumb, then spread a blanket over his kids, so they wouldn't get cold.


	3. iron dog

A/N: This is another irondad bingo prompt, the vacation square!

Summary: Ironfam goes to the beach. Peter and Morgan hunt for seashells and find a dog instead

* * *

Peter rubbed his hands together and scooted forward in the sand, closer to the bonfire they'd built on the beach. He reached out, his hands flat, and hoped to capture some of the heat radiating from the flames, but he caught a blast of sand to the side of his face instead. He whipped his head around, and up, then narrowed his eyes at Tony.

"Did you just kick sand at me?"

"Yep," said Tony. "Get any closer to that fire and I'm gonna have to throw water on you too, so you don't burn to death."

He leaned back in his beach chair, and his facial features flickered in and out with the crackling flames. The beach got really dark at night. Their fires were their only source of light, besides the lampposts that lighted the wooden path back up to the house, but they were so away from them, and so close to the ocean and it's rocking, gentle waves, that any light that was provided by the lamps faded out before it reached them.

Peter turned his head back around and faced the fire. He tried to stay where he was, down on the sand and in position to inch closer to the fire when Tony wasn't looking, but that only lasted a couple of seconds. Another blast of sand pelted him, so he gave up. With a sigh, Peter stood and returned to the empty chair next to Tony.

"I'm cold," Peter told him. "It's freezing out here."

Tony sat up and rummaged around in one of the bags on the ground. Before Peter could blink, a blanket was thrown at him.

"There," said Tony. "Now you're warm and you didn't even have to catch fire to achieve it."

Peter gave him a glare, and an eye roll, but cuddled up with the blanket, anyway. Tony went back to chatting with Pepper, and Peter returned his stare to the fire, so he wouldn't have to look at May and Happy on the other side of it. Happy was the reason May didn't need a blanket to stay warm, and some nights, Peter just wasn't ready to witness the two of them huddled together.

It was a new normal, though, and Peter knew he'd have to get used to it, eventually.

He allowed a small smile.

Another new normal was nights like this. All of them, around a fire on the beach, with the ocean behind them and stars above them. Nearly perfect nights happened every night. They'd be absolutely perfect if every day didn't bring them closer to the end of vacation, if all of this could last forever, but Peter knew it couldn't.

Nothing ever did. Everything died, eventually, and Peter dreaded the day vacation ended and everyone returned to reality. Peter and May would return to theirs in Queens with Happy drifting in and out of their lives. Tony, Pepper and Morgan would go back to the lake house, and Rhodey would go back to doing whatever Rhodey did that kept him busy and away from their lives.

With another glance at the fire, he stood, let his blanket fall to the sand, and told everyone goodnight. It was time for bed, or at least, time for him to pretend to be going to bed.

He trudged through the sand, to the wooden path lit by lamps, and then finally, into the beach house. His bedroom was on the top floor, directly across the hall from Morgan's. As he walked into his room, he heard her tiny heart beating through the walls.

Peter collapsed on his bed, burrowed under his covers, got out his phone, and waited.

A half hour passed before Peter heard footsteps clunking up the stairs and through the hallways. He dropped his phone, shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep just in time for his bedroom door to creek open. He listened as Tony's footsteps got closer, until they stopped, and Tony hovered above his bed.

Tony dragged his thumb across Peter's forehead, swiping the hair off his face, before bending down and pressing a kiss against it. He brought the covers back up to his shoulders, tucked him in, and left the room, leaving Peter listening to his footsteps as he entered Morgan's room where, probably, he did the same things.

It happened that same way every night.

Peter pretended to be asleep, so he didn't have to uphold his teenage obligation to complain about being too old to be tucked in and so he didn't have the opportunity to admit that he couldn't fall asleep without it, at least not without falling into nightmares instead of falling into dreams.

Sleep came easy, and peaceful, once Tony left his room, and as he drifted off, he tried not to think about how that would disappear, too, once their vacation ended.

* * *

The next morning Peter's stomach woke him up. He let it growl at him a couple of times before forcing himself to roll out of his bed and plant his feet on the carpet.

Everyone else had beaten him to breakfast. He found them on the back deck, and the second he stepped on the other side of the sliding glass door, he knew it was one of those mornings he should have stayed asleep, despite the grumblings from his stomach.

"Oh, good, you're awake," said Tony. "You're taking Morgan on a walk."

"What?"

Morgan's face lit up, and she jumped off Tony's lap and ran over to Peter. She grabbed his arm. "We're going to find more shells for my seashell collection."

Peter's eyes flicked up and away from Morgan. He looked at the assortment of juices on the table, the bottle of vodka, and the way Rhodey was already leaned back in his chair, sunglasses on, with a half empty bloody mary in one hand. May and Happy were standing together by the edge of desk, while Tony and Pepper simply sat at the table, with nothing but empty plates in front of them.

Morgan yanked on Peter's arm and tried to pull him back into the house. "Let's go nooowww."

"We're having a kid free morning," May explained. She moved away from Happy and towards the pitcher of tomato juice, grabbing an empty glass as she went.

"I'm not a kid," said Peter. "I'm almost eighteen."

Tony laughed, then turned to May. "Isn't that cute? When they think they're gonna be a grown-up when they turn eighteen?"

"Sure is," said Rhodey. He looked at Tony. "I remember when you were that age."

Peter narrowed his eyes at Tony and crossed his arms. "What are you guys going to do? Sit around and morning drink?"

"Yep," said Tony, without hesitation.

He stood up, walked across the deck, and gave Peter a push. He kept pushing until he was back on the other side of the door, with Morgan still hanging onto his arm.

"Morning drink, and tell stories about our kids," said Tony, before he slid the glass door shut.

Peter sighed, and his stomach gave a funny growl. Morgan tugged on the bottom on his shirt. "We're going now?"

"Yeah, let's go."

He grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen and ate it as they snaked down the curvy, wooden path that led them to the beach. The sun was hung high, and there were no clouds in sight. Another almost perfect day, another day Peter was sure would pass too quickly.

They kicked off their sandals and started their search for pretty shells on the shoreline, where the water could just barely lick their feet. Morgan wanted every shell she saw, and since Peter was the one with big pockets, he became her mule. He didn't mind it, though. He remembered collecting shells at the beach on Coney Island with his aunt and uncle, and wondered if May was, at that moment, trading stories about Peter's younger days at the beach for Tony's stories about Morgan.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw it. A giant shell, sticking up and out from the sand, a few yards away from the shoreline, by some trees. He looked at Morgan, making sure she wasn't too close to the water, then trekked through the sand to retrieve. He was going to win major points with this find, more than when Tony had found her a sand dollar

And that had been a plant. He'd bought it at the giftshop the day before, threw it on the ground when Morgan wasn't looking, then proceeded to pretend to find it for the first time in the sand.

But this, this was real.

He picked it up and examined it. A truly specular shell. Real life treasure, at least to Morgan, and when he turned around to show it to her, she was already looking back at him, with the biggest smile stretched across her face.

"Pete?" she asked, then pointed somewhere behind him. "Look!"

Peter followed her finger until his eyes landed on a dog. He was sitting, staring at them, between a few trees. He looked like a golden retriever underneath the dirt and sand that covered his fur. Also, he looked like his and Morgan's new best friend.

"Let's rescue him," said Morgan, reading Peter's mind. She grabbed Peter's hand and gave an excited jump. "It'll be our first superhero team up like daddy and Uncle Rhodey." She dropped Peter's hand, then gave an Iron Man prose. "Spidey and Iron Monarch save the dog."

"Iron Monarch?"

"Mmhmm," said Morgan. She puffed out her chest. "It's my made-up name. Iron for dad, Monarch for the insect part, because everyone knows butterflies are better than spiders."

Peter laughed. "It's a good name. Let's go save him, then."

Morgan nodded, excitedly, and the two of them slowly, thoughtfully, quietly approached the dog. When they were just a few feet away, they stopped, crouched down, and waited for the dog to come to them. He didn't. Just stared at them.

"Come on," said Peter. He patted the sand next to them. "Come on, boy."

"We won't hurt you," added Morgan.

The dog stood up at the sound of Morgan's voice, and trotted over to them, only to lay back down in the sand and let out a whine once he was in front of them.

"What's wrong with him, is he sick?" asked Morgan, patting his head and messaged his ears.

"I think just hungry," said Peter. Up close, he could see how thin he was, underneath all that matted fur and dirt and sand. "Let's take him back to the house. I think there's some leftover hotdogs in the fridge…. Just, we have to be quiet and very sneaky."

"So dad doesn't find out."

"Right," said Peter. "And we should give him a name. That way if he does find out, he'll feel too guilty making us get rid of him, that he'll let him stay."

Morgan titled her head and looked at their newest family member. "Iron dog."

"Very original," said Peter, with a laugh. "How about Monarch?"

"Yes, that's it, that's his name!" Morgan said as if that had always been his name, and Peter happened to guess it right. "Come on, Monarch, let's go home and eat."

* * *

After what felt like an hour of coaxing and backtracking and stopping along the way to get the dog back on track, they managed to get him outside the beach house. The three of them were crouched down behind some bushes, waiting for the perfect moment to get Monarch in the house and up to Peter's bedroom.

"Okay, here's the plan," said Peter. He pulled back a branch from the bushes with one hand, and the other was laid protectively on Monarch's back. "They're all probably still on the back deck, so you go and distract them, show them the new shells and all, and I'll sneak him upstairs to my room."

Morgan nodded. Determination rang true in her eyes. She was ready for war.

"Then once you're done showing them, grab the leftovers from the fridge and meet me upstairs."

"Got it," said Morgan, with another nod.

She raced off towards the house, and once she disappeared inside, Peter led Monarch inside, too. Getting him upstairs to his bedroom was surprisingly easy, locking him up in his attached bathroom was easier.

Monarch sat down by the door once it was shut and stared at Peter, _like he knew_.

"Look don't be mad at me," Peter told him. He backed up towards the bathtub, knelt in front of it, secured the drain stopped and turned on the facet, leaving his hand under the stream to gauge the temperature as he turned and leveled another look at Monarch. "This is for your own good. There's no way they'll let you stay in the house with all that dirt all over you."

Monarch stared at the running water and attempted to scoot even farther into the door. He whined when it was impossible, stood up, and began to scratch at it, instead.

"It's not that bad," said Peter. He flicked some water at Monarch. "See?"

He stopped scratching, sat down, stuck his head straight up into the air and _howled_.

"No, no, no, no, no," said Peter. His words were a fast and panicked whisper. He dove away from the tub and knelt in front of Monarch instead, placing his both hands on the dog. "Shhhh you have to be quiet."

Monarch stopped howling, but it was too late. Peter heard footsteps making their way up to his room. He tugged on Monarch, pulling him forward and away from the door, just in time for it to pop open.

It was just Morgan, holding a glass container of last night's hot dogs and wearing a red cape along with a paper superhero mask that was held together by rubber bands. She shut the door behind her. She threw two hot dogs on the floor for Monarch.

"Whoa," said Morgan, as they both watch him absolutely devour the food. "He _was _hungry."

Peter looked at the tub, slowly filling with water, then back at the glass container of hot dogs Morgan held. He rolled up the legs of his jeans, stepped inside the lukewarm water, and asked Morgan to hand him the food.

He took one of the hotdogs and held it up for Monarch to see. He sat down and stared at the food intently.

"Come on boy," said Peter. "Just come in here and you have all the food you want."

Monarch didn't move. He barked.

"No, no, no, no barking."

He barked again, louder that time, and without much warning, jumped into the bathtub at Peter. The shock and the weight of him knocked Peter backward, causing him to slip on the slope of the tub and fell completely into the water. The leftovers fell with Peter, emptying out into the bath water, and Monarch burrowed his head under the water, trying to find them all.

Morgan shrieked with laughter that died down quickly as the door to the bathroom flew open. Peter panicked, fully expecting to see Tony walk into the room, but it was worse. It was Pepper.

The room went dead silent as Pepper surveyed the room. Her eyes went to Peter, sitting in the bathtub with a stray dog, to Morgan, smiling unapologetically and dressed as a superhero, to the water all over the floor, then finally, to Monarch, as he splashed around in the tub, occasionally lifting his head from the water just long enough to chop down a hotdog he'd found.

"Tony," Pepper shouted, as she turned on her heel and left the room. "Come get your kids!"

Tony appeared mere seconds later, took out his phone, and snapped a picture of all three of them. "That's getting hung up in the living room."

Peter groaned, and Monarch barked, and Morgan gave another Iron Man pose for Tony's camera. He kept snapping away, taking more and more pictures, as if he were trying to make the moment last forever.

* * *

A breeze hit Peter's face. He stood on the deck and watched as Happy and Rhodey played fetch with Monarch. Morgan ran along side of him, sometimes taking the frisbee for herself, sometimes playing tug-of-war with him for it. Behind them, the sun was lower in the sky, and soon it would be gone.

The end to another perfect day, and a couple of steps closer to the end of vacation.

He turned when he heard the glass door slide against the track, but quickly turned back around when he saw it was Tony, wearing a smirk. The same one he'd been wearing as he snapped a million pictures of the Monarch Bath Time Disaster.

"Did you actually think your chances of keeping him were better if he were clean?" asked Tony. He joined him at the end of the deck, where Peter rested his forearms on the handrail.

"I thought it was worth a shot."

He looked at Tony. He was his only chance at keeping Monarch. His and May's apartment building had an expensive fee for keeping a dog. It had to be Tony, and Peter wasn't about to give up.

"I had to bring him back here."

"Oh, you had to?"

"Yeah. He was out there all alone and he was hungry, and I just started thinking about how he probably got snapped and his family just moved on and forgot all about him, so when he came back, he was all alone."

"Don't do that," said Tony, wagging a finger at him.

"Do what?"

Tony narrowed his eyes at him and leaned against the railing. "Give this dog a backstory that makes me feel sorry for it."

"_Him_," corrected Peter. "His name is Monarch."

Tony didn't say anything. Just looked at him with a blank, unreadable expression.

"Please can we keep him?" asked Peter. He wasn't above resorting to begging, not for a dog. "I can help take care of him. It'll give me an excuse to come over."

Tony frowned, straightened up and turned his body so his feet pointed towards Peter. "You don't need an excuse to come over. When are you gonna realize that you're my kid, too, huh? What's it gonna take?"

Another breeze ruffled through Peter's hair. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again, settled with telling the truth.

"I just – I'm just worried that once we go back home," he said, gesturing to Happy, Rhodey, Morgan and Monarch down below, then at Tony and himself. "All this goes away. You know, May and I will go back to Queens, you guys will go back to the lake house- "

"-We're not," said Tony. "I mean, we're keeping the lake house as a holiday getaway, but we're moving back to New York."

"You are?"

"Yep. Morgan's gonna be starting school soon, and I'm serious, Peter. You're my son. The lake house is too far away." Tony put a hand on his shoulder, and directed him to the table, where they both took a seat. "May and I were talking today, and we worked out a schedule."

"A what?"

"You know like every other weekend you'll be at my place," said Tony. "And I get Wednesday dinners."

That sounded like joint custody, or co-parenting, at the very least. It was weight off his shoulders, and it took away some of the dread of vacation ending. Just some. They would still have to leave behind the sun and the beach and the zero responsibility.

"Holidays we all spend together," said Tony. "Just like this."

Peter released a breath and gave Tony a smile. "That sounds great."

"Good," said Tony. He clapped his shoulders again, "So we're squared away, now? No more of this making up excuses to come over bullshit you just said?"

Peter stood up and walked back over to the ledge to watch Monarch run around some more, then looked back at Tony. He broke out into a grin. "I know what it's going to take."

From Tony's expression, Peter could tell he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"That's emotional blackmail."

He shrugged, "Learned from the best."

"Fine," said Tony, joining Peter, again, by the ledge. "We'll keep the dog."

"Yes," said Peter. He tackled him with a hug and burrowed his face into his chest. "Thanks, Tony."

Tony hugged him tighter. Hugs like that, from Tony, always reminded Peter of being on the battlefield. His hugs were peace in the middle of destructive and chaos. When Tony finally let him go, he backed away, and towards the door

"You smell like wet dog," he told him, before he disappeared into the house. "Go take a shower."

Peter frowned, sniffed his own shirt, and crinkled his face. He went directly to his bathroom, and after cleaning out all the dog hairs, washed the stink off him.

That night, when Tony wondered into Peter's room to tuck him in, he was pretending to be asleep between Morgan and Monarch. He felt Tony kiss his forehead, he heard Tony kiss Morgan's, and then, he heard a third kiss, from his other side. He'd given Monarch a goodnight kiss, too.

"Well buddy," Peter whispered, once Tony was gone and down the hall. "I guess you've officially been adopted."

Monarch, for once, didn't give him an answer. He slept peacefully. Peter gave his ears a massage, then shut his eyes. Sleep came easy.


	4. blankets and brain melting fevers

Here's another irondad bingo fic!

Prompt: whump: fever

* * *

Peter was lying face down on his bed, buried in covers, burning up but also shivering, when Mr. Stark started knocking on the front door. He knew it was Mr. Stark, without a doubt, from his frantic, erratic heartbeat, and from the way the pounding got louder and more demanding the longer Peter tried to ignore it.

He groaned, crawled out from under his pile of blankets, and tossed his legs over the side of the bed, losing balance and almost faceplanting into the carpet as he did. He steadied himself, stood up, then dragged his feet out of his room and through the hallway.

Mr. Stark had been in mid-knock when Peter answered the door. He paused, then dropped his hand, eventually using it to support the brown paper bag he had cradled in the opposite arm.

"Hey Mr. Stark," said Peter. His voice came out raspy and weak, and his throat ached with every syllable. "What are you doing here?"

He held up the brown paper bag. "I got an alert that you weren't at school today, then aunt hottie told me you were sick, so I brought soup."

Mr. Stark blew past him, entering the apartment without permission, and leaving Peter with his hand on the door, staring dumbly into the empty hallway and trying to figure out how and why Tony Stark got alerts when he didn't show up to school.

"You made soup?" asked Peter, turning. Mr. Stark put the bag down on the dining room table and took out a few steaming containers.

"I _bought_ soup."

"Oh."

Peter forced himself to move across the apartment again, but he collapsed into a dining room chair the first change he got. He watched with achy eyes as Mr. Stark arranged bowls and utensils, and he hoped Mr. Stark didn't plan on forcing feeding him. Peter definitely wasn't eating that stuff on his own, no matter what fancy restaurant Mr. Stark had got it from.

The smell made him want to gag, and if there was anything left in his stomach, he was sure he would have lost it the second Mr. Stark took the plastic lid off one of the containers.

"Peter."

His eyes snapped back up and found Mr. Stark's eyes. The edges of his face blurred.

"What?"

"The door," stated Mr. Stark. Peter blinked up at him. His face came back into focus, but Peter still didn't understand why he was saying door. "Jesus, kid, the door, you left it open."

He turned in his chair and saw the door to his apartment, standing wide open, exactly like he left. Slowly, and with effort, Peter started to stand, but Mr. Stark pushed him back in the chair with a hand on his shoulder.

"No, stay there, I don't want you passing out on my watch," said Mr. Stark. "I'll get it."

He marched across the apartment, and when he came back to the table, pressed his hand against Peter's forehead.

"You're burning up," said Mr. Stark, as he pulled back his hand and took something out from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"I kn-"

A thermometer was shoved in his mouth.

He leveled a glare at Mr. Stark, but clamped his mouth shut and put his tongue over the end of the thermometer, anyway. It felt like hours until the thermometer started beeping and Mr. Stark popped it out of his mouth. He squinted and frowned at whatever numbers he saw printed across the small screen.

"I don't like how high that fever is."

"I'm sorry?"

"You need to see a doctor."

"What? No – no, I don't," Peter stammered. "I need to see my bed."

"I'm gonna take you to the tower and have the medical staff look over you."

"Mr. Stark…" He made his eyes big and wide. He tried to look more pathetic than he already did, but still, he could see it on Mr. Stark's face. His dreams of going back to sleep were about to be crushed.

"No pouting," he told him, tugging him up and out of the chair by his elbow. "Puppy dog eyes will get you nowhere if you're dead. Come on, I'll help you get your shoes on."

Peter let Mr. Stark drag him back down the hallway and towards his bedroom. He complained the way. It was just a virus. It wasn't a big deal. Mr. Stark didn't seem to hear him. His protests fell on deaf ears.

Mr. Stark lowered him onto his bed, then looked around Peter's messy bedroom.

"How do you find anything in here?" asked Mr. Stark. Peter replied with a shrug. "Where's your shoes?"

He stretched out his arm and pointed towards his closet, sending Mr. Stark on his hunt. As soon as he had his back turned, Peter laid back down and burrowed under his favorite blanket, or at least, his favorite blanket to use when he was sick.

It was soft and warm and was the same blanket he'd clutched between his tiny fingers the day his parents dropped him off at Ben and May's that time they never came back. It was the same blanket he sobbed into the night Ben took his last breath. It was red, gold and printed with a flying, cartoon Iron Man. It was safety cloaked over him, and Peter didn't even have enough energy to care about the consequences of Mr. Stark finding out his childhood comfort object was Iron Man merch.

"Really kid?" asked Mr. Stark. He shook one of Peter's feet. "Sit up."

"I don't need a doctor." His face was smashed against his sheets, and he doubted any of those words were recognizable to anyone except him.

Mr. Stark released a breath, then Peter felt his bed dip with his weight. Before he could do anything to stop him, Mr. Stark slid his socks over his feet for him. Next came his shoes, and without much warning, a hand gripping his arm and pulling him into a sitting position.

And that was when Peter learned Mr. Stark was truly crazy, that moment he came at him with his winter coat.

He leaned back on his hands and dodged him. "Oh my god, Mr. Stark. It's _September_."

"I wouldn't care if it were July. There's a chill in the air and you know you don't handle the cold well."

_A chill_.

Tony Stark was standing in his bedroom, losing his mind, over a chill.

"And you're sick," he added.

Peter glared at him again, held out strong as long as he could before realizing Mr. Stark wouldn't let him rest until they got this unnecessary trip over with. He stretched out his arms and let Mr. Stark help him into his coat, and that would have been enough, if it were anyone except Mr. Stark, but he wasn't happy until Peter was wearing a hat, gloves, and a scarf.

"There," he said, and patted his head. "Now we're all set."

Peter tried to deepen his glare, to turn his pathetic into something threatening, but from the way Mr. Stark's lips twitched, he didn't think he was very successful.

"Alrighty, let's go get you better," said Mr. Stark. He pealed Peter up from the bed. Before he could guide him out of the bedroom, he circled back for his Iron Man blanket. Mr. Stark gave him a raised eyebrow but didn't make any comments.

Happy waited for them with a car out on the street outside, and once Peter and Mr. Stark were both settled into the backseat, Peter played with the window switch before giving Tony a look.

"Is this kidnapping?"

"No."

"I don't know, I'm being taken against my will, and May doesn't know where I am. I think that counts."

Mr. Stark clenched his jaw and stayed silent while the car stayed stalled outside of Peter's apartment building. A couple of long seconds ticked by, then Mr. Stark made eye contact with Happy through the rearview mirror.

"Hogan, drive," he said, as he took his cellphone from his pocket and called May at work on her cellphone.

* * *

"Well," said the doctor. Peter clutched the edges of his Iron Man blanket and watched her from the bed as she peeled off her plastic gloves and tossed them into the trash can. "You've definitely got a sick kid."

"What is it? What does he have?" Mr. Stark hovered over him, just inches away from the bed, and his face was comically worried. If Peter hadn't felt so miserable, he might he laughed, because he knew exactly what the doctor was going to say before she said it.

"A virus," she deadpanned. "He needs fluids, and rest."

"That's all?"

"It'll pass on its own," she told him. She stopped by the door on her way out and looked at Mr. Stark. "In the future, Mr. Stark, 101.1 is not a brain melting fever. It's relatively normal."

She left the room, off to assist in whatever the Avenger's medical team did whenever there weren't any hurt or sick Avengers, and Mr. Stark sunk down on the bed near Peter's feet. Peter tried to catch Mr. Stark's eyes, and once he had, he tried to look as smug as he could with watery eyes, a pale face and huddled underneath a blanket.

"Told you."

Mr. Stark offered a weary sigh. "I guess you were right. I should've left you alone."

"No," Peter blurted out, the word coming before he could stop it. "Umm, just, I don't want to be alone."

He didn't like being alone, but sick and alone, well that was much worse, and maybe May would've stayed home from work if Peter had asked her too, but he couldn't do that. They needed the money, and he was getting too old to have a parent sit with him just because he had a basic fever.

Suddenly he was thankful for Mr. Stark's ability to take a virus and turn it into Ebola.

Mr. Stark smiled at him. It looked more like a grimace, but Peter was starting to learn that was the way he smiled when he was trying very hard not to feel things. It was genuine, even if he was putting every effort into making it appear otherwise, and when that failed, he went with a distraction, a change of topic.

He pinched the fabric of Peter's Iron Man blanket together, made a face, then let it drop.

"What's the deal with the blanket?"

"It's soft." Peter brought the edges up closer to his shoulder and wrapped his knuckles under it.

"It's ratty," said Mr. Stark. He pointed to a spot that was a shade darker than the original red. "And stained."

"Spaghetti O's."

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow at him.

"After my parents died May and Ben could only get me to eat if it was Spaghetti O's, and I wouldn't ever let go of this blanket, so May taught me how to wear it like a cap and well, I was a pretty messy kid."

"Couldn't be without it just long enough to eat, huh?"

"It made me feel safe."

_Iron Man made me feel safe. _

That part went unsaid, but Peter knew Mr. Stark caught it. He looked away and grimaced again and Peter could he struggling and failing in his battle to not feel things. One of these days, Peter was going to break him, but it wasn't that day. Mr. Stark shook his head a little, then bit out a laugh.

"I can't believe your aunt fed you spaghetti from a can."

"You make it sound so scandalous."

"Because my mother would never allow me to eat spaghetti _out of a can_."

"Maybe you should try it sometime, Mr. Stark, you're all grown up now."

Mr. Stark frowned at him, patted his knee, and softened his voice. "Let's get you back to bed. You're becoming delirious."

"The couch, not the bed," said Peter, as he sat up. "And can you get a wheelchair? I don't feel like walking." Mr. Stark looked at him like he was about to say no, so Peter continued, "I wouldn't want to pass out on the way to the suite."

Mr. Stark went and found a wheelchair and pushed Peter all the way to the living room portion of his and Pepper's suite in Avenger's tower. Peter had to only stand up and walk long enough to put himself and his blanket on the couch. It was comfortable. Not more comfortable than the bed in his bedroom at the tower, but decidedly less lonely.

He planned on turning his pathetic to sway Tony into watching movies with him.

"Please, Mr. Stark," said Peter, after his initial no. "You brought me all the over here _in the chill_ and I just want to watch Star Wars with you."

"Fine," he said. "Ask me to make you Spaghetti O's and I'm drawing the line."

Peter grinned as Mr. Stark dropped on the couch next to him. He didn't think he'd be feeling up to eating anything for awhile, anyway.

A couple of hours later, Mr. Stark brought him a Glacier Cherry Gatorade from the freezer, and Peter sipped on the frozen slush through a bendy straw while the opening crawl for the next Star Wars movie played.

He shifted in the cushions, scooting closer to Mr. Stark until he was so close, he could put his head down on Mr. Stark's chest. He let him rest there, and after a few seconds, wrapped his arm around him. He was better than the blanket, but Peter was still happy he had both.

And if, a few weeks later, Spider-Man crawled up Avenger's Tower and into Tony Stark's suite to drop off a crate of Spaghetti O's and old pictures of Peter Parker wrapped up in an Iron Man blanket as a kid, and if he stuck around on the windows to spy on Mr. Stark as opened the crate, made a can of Spaghetti O's and gaze at said pictures with water in his eyes, he didn't tell a soul.


	5. like a lullaby

This is another irondad bingo

Trope: Hair Playing

Summary: Peter gets a migraine and Tony takes care of him

* * *

Peter wiped sweat off his forehead and tried to ignore the aching at the back of his eyes.

Usually he regretted ignoring it. Usually it was a sure sign a migraine was coming, but he clung to denial and continued to glare at his laptop screen, trying to see the words on the screen out in the blinding sun.

That probably wasn't helping him fight off the incoming migraine, but it couldn't be helped. It was a nice day, and if he was stuck studying and doing homework on a day like that, he could at least do it outside.

He'd set up a study station with his laptop, notebooks, highlights and textbooks outside, on a picnic table, under a tree, next to the lake. It was that spot exactly that made Tony's lake house his favorite place to study. It was quiet, where the city was loud with sirens and arguing and the temptation to ditch school work in favor of swinging through the streets as Spider-Man.

He'd rather be doing that.

He was good at being Spider-Man, good at helping people, and once he'd been good at school, too. Not anymore. He'd come back from the dead, rematerialized, but not all of him. He lost something, he just wasn't sure what it was.

Peter liked to say part of his brain got jumbled and wires were criss-crossed when they were being pulled back together. Tony liked telling him he was wrong.

"It's anxiety," he'd told him. The boat under them had rocked, and Tony cast his line out into the lake.

Peter remembered watching it as it soared through the air, and landed off in the distance, the orange bobber moving with the water. He still didn't know why they were fishing. They had never been before, and haven't been since, but ever since Peter came back from the dead, Tony had gone crazy doing those types of things.

He was all fun and games, all the time. Peter supposed that was a privilege well earned by the man who saved the world.

"I can't focus on anything," Peter had told him, as if to say it wasn't anxiety. It couldn't be. "I'm behind in all my classes."

Tony had taken his eyes off his bobber and shot him a look of concern. "Let me set you up with a therapist."

He had refused.

He didn't need to sit around and talk about his problems with a stranger who wouldn't understand. It wouldn't help. He had Spider-Man to help relieve tension and stress. He'd made a decision that day on the boat. He'd just have to work harder and study more hours.

And that was what he did or at least, that's what he tried to do.

The ache in his eyes was tightening into something like a band around his entire skull. He glared at his computer screen, scratched at the back of his hand, then copied down what he thought were the important chunks of text, only to cross them out and write something else in their place.

It didn't matter, though. Just seconds later, after crossing out even more of his notes and aggressively carving an x through the page, he was blasted in the side of the head with water. He whipped his head around, and his eyes narrowed in on Tony. He stood nearby and wore a sling around his arm that supported a giant, Tony-Stark-upgraded water gun.

All fun, all games, all the time.

"Watch where you're shooting that thing," said Peter. He smoothed down the area of his hair that'd taken the blast. "You're going to get my books wet."

"Guess that means it's time for a break, then."

"I can't," said Peter. He tapped his pen against this notebook. He had so much work to do, so much catching up, and Tony knew this, because Peter explained it to him just about a million times.

"Play water wars with me and Morgan," said Tony. He leveled the gun at him in a threatening manner, then patted the tank that held the ammunition. "Or face the consequences."

Peter stared down the barrel of the gun. "You know it's supposed to be the kid distracting the adults away from work, right? Where did all the adults go, by the way?"

His response earned him another blast from the water gun. The water felt good on a day like that, and he didn't mind it, even it did splash off him and sunk into the pages of his notebook. It made him wish he could go play with Tony and Morgan, that he wasn't stuck at a picnic table doing homework on the first day of his three-day weekend.

"Being a grown up is overrated," said Tony. "Ask Rhodey. But okay, fine, be boring and responsible while Morgan and I have fun."

Peter watched him go, then tried to return his focus back on his classes.

It wasn't the easiest feat to pull.

It was hot. There were beads of sweat prickling down the back of his neck, and the glare from the sun hitting his computer screen tightened the invisible band around his skull. He shut the computer and switched to his textbook. It didn't help much.

The words on the page were scrambled just like Peter's brain, his mind wandered, his knee started to bounce. He was suffocating.

Any second he was going to stop breathing, he was going to disintegrate there at that table. Any second, the end was coming. His breath hitched. He gripped the edges of the picnic table with both hands to keep himself tethered to the earth and took a deep breath.

Out and in, like he read online. He was fine. Thanos was dead. The infinity stones were back where they belonged, and Tony had saved the universe.

Fine. Everything was fine.

He was fine.

A swan swooped down out of the sky and landed in the lake. He stared at it, took another deep breath, and for a second time, returned his eyes back to his books.

It hit him all at once. A sudden explosion of pain in the back of his neck and his forehead. He couldn't attempt to plow through it, so he gave up instead. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and held them there as he let his upper body fall over the picnic table, all top of all his books.

* * *

Peter didn't know how much time passed before Tony's dad reflexes kicked in.

He didn't know how long he was sitting there, hunched over a picnic table, with his head cradled in his hands, but he knew it wasn't long. Pain made time move slowly, and Tony found him fast.

His and Morgan's arrival was announced by a soft poke to his side.

"Pete? Are you okay?" asked Morgan. He didn't respond, didn't know if he was still capable of producing words. "You were right, dad. Homework ate Peter."

She grumbled another wordy sentence about never wanting to go to school, and Tony laughed.

"He's not been eaten," said Tony. He put a soothing hand on Peter's back and started rubbing circles. "Right, Pete? Please don't tell us the books won, or Morgan will be traumatized."

Peter groaned and tried to focus on the comfort Tony's hand brought, on the circles, instead the pain in his head.

"I need actual words, bud. Confirmation that you're still in there."

"Head 'urts."

"Just like dad, huh?" asked Tony, with a sigh. "Tried to work through a headache only to make it worse."

It was hard for Peter to think back and remember the times when Tony was work obsessed.

That time seemed so far away. Ever since the snap, ever since Morgan was born, and Peter was brought back, Tony didn't work. He created, but that was different from work. Creating was for fun, and usually resulted upgraded water guns or other fancy toys to entertain Morgan.

"Ok come on, you're done."

"But –" said Peter. It was just the beginning of a protest, and it was one he couldn't finish, so he didn't even try. Instead he let Tony coax him up from the picnic table and into the house, where he was hit with cool air and shelter from the sun.

"Lights to 20, Fri," said Tony, as they walked into the living room.

Tony grabbed some pillows, sunk into the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He put the pillows against his lap and made a gesture with his arm for Peter to come and lay down.

Once his head hit the pillow, Tony put his cool, metal, prosthetic hand against Peter's forehead. It was instant relief. It didn't take all the pain away, but it let Peter close his eyes and imagine he might feel normal again someday.

"Dad, is Peter dying?" asked Morgan.

"No honey, he's okay, his head just hurts a little bit, so we're going to keep the lights low and our voices quiet, alright?" said Tony. He put his fingers, his real fingers, through Peter's hair, again and again. "Hey Morgunna, want to do us a favor?"

"Yeah." She reduced her voice to a whisper.

"Go find mom and tell her we need a water bottle, the cold pack from the freezer and the migraine medicine, the strong stuff. Think you can remember all that?"

"Mmhmm," said Morgan, and Peter listened as her tiny footsteps got further and further away until they were gone, and all he wanted to focus on was Tony's hand running through his hair and his other planted on his forehead. If he could just get lost in that, and the comfort it provided, maybe he could at least pretend his head wasn't about to explode.

When Pepper came into the living room, and brought all the items Tony requested, he made him sit up, just long enough to take a few sips of water and wash the pills down. He collapsed back down on the pillow immediately afterward, but when Tony's hand didn't come back to rest on his forehead, Peter grabbed it and moved it there himself.

Tony took it back, and Peter made a disgruntled sound until it returned, that time, to press the cold pack against his forehead instead of just the metal.

Like a soothing lullaby, the kind with rhythm, but also the kind that didn't need words, his fingers started working their way through his hair again. It was relaxing. It lured him to sleep, and he drifted in and out as the medicine took effect and the pain ebbed away.

He stayed half-conscious, listening but not really comprehending Tony and Pepper as they chatted. The TV had been set to low, and at some point, Peter had gotten jostled when Morgan climbed on Tony to give him goodnight kisses. Sometime after that, someone had tossed a blanket over him.

His headache was reduced to just something dull, just leftovers from what it was before, so, slowly, he sat up. Tony was still there with him on the couch, and he watched Peter as he rubbed his eyes and took a drink from the water bottle on the coffee table.

"Better?" asked Tony, as Peter screwed the cap back on the water and set it down on the table.

"Yeah," said Peter, and his words came out like a breath of relief.

"Does that happen a lot?" asked Tony. Peter stared back at him. "Do you get headaches like that a lot?"

"I mean, I wouldn't say _a lot_."

"How many times in a week?"

He shouldn't have sat up. He should have pretended that he was still asleep, or that his homework really had eaten him. Either of those options were preferable to this interrogation. He knew it was an interrogation. Tony was using the Dad Voice, and it demanded his answer.

"Maybe like two or three times," said Peter. He sunk back into the couch cushions, wishing he could disappear inside them.

Tony let out a tired, weary sigh. "That's too many, Pete. You don't have to live like that."

Peter didn't say anything. He didn't know how _not _to live like that.

"I want you to see a therapist," said Tony. He was still using the Dad Voice, and Peter knew giving his complaints a voice wouldn't matter if Tony had already made up his mind, so he went with logical instead.

"I should be seeing a neurologist."

"May's told me you've already been," said Tony. "But I thought it had been resolved since I hadn't heard anything else about it for months."

Peter wondered when May had told Tony about the headaches, how often they discuss him with him knowing anything about it.

"She also told me she's been trying to get you to go to therapy, too," said Tony. Apparently a lot. They talked about him a lot. "She says you've been stressed out and anxious, and so this isn't your choice anymore, I'm making an executive decision."

He stared at him and guessed that was that. Whatever Tony decided, May would go along with. They both just really took the whole co-parenting idea too far.

"No shame in getting help," he continued. "I wish I would've started therapy a lot sooner than I did."

"I'm going to bed," said Peter, standing up from the couch. He left the dark living room and Tony as cold, as fast, as he could.

He regretted it as soon as he was in his own bed, under the covers, with his head on a different pillow. Without Tony's hand singing lullabies through his hair, he tossed and turned the rest of the night.

* * *

"It's time to get up! It's time to get up!"

Peter blinked his eyes open, but absolutely refused to move. He was stubborn and wanted to hang onto sleep as long as possible. His bed was moving, though. It was shaking under him, because Morgan Stark was jumping up and down somewhere near his feet

"It's time to plllayyyy!"

A few drops of water hit the back of his head, and he sat up quickly. Morgan wore shorts, a t-shirt, and had a bandana tied in her hair. She had war paint on her face, and a tiny plastic water gun in her hand.

Like father, like daughter.

Peter imagined himself jumping out of bed and finding his own water gun, imagine chasing her and Tony around the yard, and wished he had the time for it. Thanks to his migraine yesterday, he missed a whole day of work and now had to play catch up instead of water guns.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," said Peter. "I can't. I'm too busy today."

She finally stopped jumping and titled her head at him. "Dad said that you'd say that, and he also told me to tell you he's taking all your school stuff hostage and the only way to get it back is by force."

"Of course he did." He threw his legs over the side of the bed, and his feet hit the carpet. "Where is he?"

"Outside," said Morgan. She jumped off his bed and followed him out into the hallway. "You should probably get a shield or something because he still has the super soaker 3000."

"I'll be okay."

"But there's this really cool one in the garage. We used to use it all the time."

"Pretty sure dad gave that one back," said Peter, as they both made it to the bottom of the staircase.

Peter marched out of the house, fueled by anger he was too spent to feel last night. It wasn't fair Tony was forcing him to go to therapy. It wasn't fair that he didn't seem to understand how important school was to him, and that he insisted on playing games instead of getting work done.

He spotted Tony on the dock, with the super soaker 3000 strapped around his chest, but that didn't stop him. He continued his march towards him, and Morgan continued following him, up until the grass became wood. He went on without her, and with Tony watching him with a raised eyebrow.

He shouldn't look so surprised. The genius had to know what was coming.

"Where'd you put my school stuff?" demanded Peter.

"Oh," said Tony. "Did Morgan not tell you my terms?"

Peter wanted to roll his eyes but resisted in attempt to look less like a teenager, and more like someone to fear. He wondered if it was what happened when superheroes got old and retired. They had to play out their battles with children and water guns.

"Really?"

"Really," said Tony. He pumped the gun a few times. "And you came all the way out here without a weapon."

A drop of sweat dripped across the back of Peter's neck. It was so hot, just like it had been the day before. The sunlight gleamed against the lake, and an idea came like a spark, one that must've lit up his eyes.

"Parker don't you dare –"

He did dare.

Peter shoved Tony off the dock but hadn't been considering that his reflexes were so incredibly sharp. He put all the blame on the prosthetic. The same hand that cooled off his forehead the night before locked around his arm, and they both fell into the lake, plunging into the water at the exact same time.

Underwater, Peter yanked his arm free from Tony's grip and breached the surface. Between earfuls of water he could hear Morgan laughing from the shore and Tony splashing around next to him.

"That's cheating," said Tony. He sent a splash Peter's way, and he failed to dodge it.

Peter spat out lake water. It drizzled down his chin. "No it's not. It's winning."

"It's a draw, smartass." He swam closer and dunked him under with the prosthetic arm. Peter came back up just in time to hear Tony finish with, "_That's _winning."

He spat out more lake water, except that time, he aimed it at Tony, then shook his head back and forth, trying to air out his hair. They splashed each other a few more times while they treaded water, until Tony got clobbered in the eyes with water, and Peter laughed. The sound was like a slap in the face for both of them. Tony stopped rubbing his eyes, stared, blinked.

It was a sound that had been missing, but not discovered as missing until it was found again.

His muscles were looser, when he hadn't even realized they'd been tight, and when he met Tony's stare, the idea that he'd been right along wafted around in the air. The snap hadn't fried his IQ, it broke something in his spirit.

"Dad!" Morgan shouted. "Can I come swim, too?"

"Uh, yeah, stay right there," said Tony. He blinked at Peter a couple of times, as if seeing him for the first time, then started his swim over to her. "I have to go find your water wings."

"Awww dad I know how to swim."

"Too bad. You're wearing floaties until you bring home a few gold medals."

Peter followed Tony to shore, but only to go inside and switch his soaking pajamas out for his swim trunks.

He spent the rest of the day doing backflips off the dock to impress Morgan and laughing at Tony when he tried to pull of the same moves. His mocking got him a few blasts of water from the super soaker 3000, but he didn't mind.

They had dinner outside, once Tony put his water guns down long enough to man the grill, and after the sun went down behind the lake, Peter was just as burnt as the marshmallow on the end of his stick. They sat around the fire, eating smores, chatting, laughing for hours, and Peter didn't want it to end.

It had too, though, and the ending to that night was signified by Tony standing from his chair.

"Alright, time for bed, Morgan."

She didn't answer. She was already asleep, faceup in the grass, and holding a half-eaten s'more in one hand.

"Out like a light," laughed Pepper. She was the one to pick her up off the ground, while Tony took the s'more out of her hand and tossed it into the fire for the flames to eat. "I'll take her to bed. You guys should… talk."

Peter waited until Pepper disappeared inside the house with Morgan before he stared at Tony. Just the fire sat between them. He didn't have any of the anger he'd had before. He knew Tony was right, but he wasn't ready to admit it.

"I don't want to talk," said Peter, but he didn't want to be alone, either. "I just… do you wanna watch a movie?"

"Sure, buddy," said Tony. "I'm picking though. I'm not watching another Star Wars or Harry Potter movie for as long as I live."

Peter didn't care what movie went on the TV. He didn't plan on watching it. He was tried from swimming but didn't trust himself to fall asleep on his own. When they both plopped down on the couch, Peter used Tony as a pillow and waited for him to start playing with his hair, waited for the lullaby to start, so he could drift off, and actually get some rest.

* * *

Rain pounding against the house woke Peter up the next morning.

He blinked his eyes open, and crawled out from under Tony's arm, careful not to wake him up. Tony was still snoring as Peter stepped out of the living room, so he figured he'd been successful.

His feet took him out to the porch automatically. He needed to watch it, and hear it more clearly, the way the rain hit the lake, the way it made everything new and fresh. Besides that, the mist that blew on the porch with the breeze felt good on his sunburnt face.

It was relaxing, and he couldn't remember the last time he felt that relaxed, that rested, and that was sort of the problem. He hadn't realized something was wrong until he had a day that felt right. He didn't know there was another way to live, the way he used to live, until Tony forced him to see it.

But his realization came a little bit too late. It was Sunday, and later on he'd have to drive back to the city. The next morning, he'd have to return to school.

The front door opened with a squeak, and Peter turned just in time to see a tube of Aloe flying at his head. He caught it with one hand and tried to make a face at Tony. It turned into a grimace, into regret, as the sunburn crinkled with pain.

"You're a lobster," said Tony, as he walked across the porch to stand next to him. "Ever heard of sunscreen? It's this magical stuff that keeps us all from getting skin cancer." He put his hands on the wooden handrail, then looked at Peter. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"I was just – I was watching –"

"-We have a lot of work to do."

Peter frowned again. "But you-"

"I figured I could help you knock out some of that studying before you leave today," said Tony. He gestured beyond the porch. "What else are rainy days for?"

"I was thinking about that," said Peter. "Maybe I don't go back today. Maybe I stay an extra night."

"That's an awful long way to drive first thing in the morning, right before school, Pete."

"Maybe I take the day off school."

"A day off, huh?" asked Tony. He swiped the aloe from Peter's hand, and popped open the cap. "And what would you do on this day off?"

"Maybe we can take Morgan to the zoo," Peter suggested, with a shrug. "And there's this new ice cream shop she'd love near central park."

"She does love ice cream," said Tony. He squeezed some aloe into his hands. "And it's been awhile since we've been to the zoo."

Peter closed his eyes and cringed, waited for his face to hurt as Tony attacked him with aloe, but the gel felt cool as it was spread over his forehead and both his cheeks. Once he was done, Peter opened his eyes, seeing Tony as he set the tube down on the handrail.

"Then maybe after we can see if we can find any therapy, uh, places, in my area," said Peter. He swallowed a lump in his throat. It was harder to admit than he wanted it to be, but once it was out, it was a breath of fresh air.

Tony grinned at him, pulled him into a hug before Peter had a chance to react, and kissed the top of his head through his hair. They broke out of the hug, only for Tony to aggressively mess up his hair.

"I'm proud of you, kid," said Tony. He was still grinning as he turned and walked back towards the front door. He paused, with his hand on the door frame. "I gotta go fabricate an email to your school about you having the flu."

Peter looked back out towards the lake, where the rain was still beating into it. It was fine. Everything was fine, the universe, the world, _his _world, and someday, he would be fine, too.

* * *

thanks for reading!


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